THE DEATH OF THE DOCTOR

The words were horrific. I wanted to disbelieve them: surely this must be one of his tricks? Yet in my heart I knew with sickening certainty, not least from Cream’s sheer triumph, the words were true. Bell himself had certainly perceived the danger. And I had never known Cream to lie about death. When he claimed a kill, he had always killed, as I recalled to my great cost.

So he had won. But it was intolerable that this man should stand here before me now, gloating, and I braced myself.

He must have seen this in my eyes, for he sprang first. He had taken a step while he was talking and he was lithe and judged his move well.

We both reached the table together but he had the heavy candelabra before me and thrust it right into my face, forcing me to back away to the wall.

‘I wish,’ he said, ‘to burn you alive and make you a martyr for all your noble causes. Another detective martyr.’

The flames were agonising on my face so I could only try to get my head away and back. Cream’s head was not far away now, madly illuminated by the candles, which were singeing my hair and eyebrows. I sank lower on the wall but he only increased the pressure and the pain. No doubt he could have hit down but the candles might have spluttered and he truly did want to burn me.

I was blinded now, the pain was horrible and I knew I would catch fire but my hand, pressed uselessly back against the floor, came up against a long smooth object. It was Bell’s cane. I gripped it like a drowning man gripping rope. Swinging it would be impossible, but I knew the cane well and my hand was quite near the top. With one movement I jabbed the cane forward at my attacker with all my strength. Of course I struck in the direction of the pain and the cane knocked one of the candles half in his face so that he recoiled a few inches, alleviating my own agony.

I jabbed harder then, finding his head and forcing him back, removing the flames from my face entirely. I just had time to stagger up before he came at me again but I had the cane now and moved along the wall away from him into the corner, preparing to swing it.

To my amazement he did not follow, but went to the door, which was still ajar, and closed it. Then he bent down and touched the candles to the carpet.

I was moving towards him, welcoming the chance to make a proper assault, but suddenly a great wall of fire sprang up before me. I had to step back, and beyond the shooting flames I could see him laughing. He turned and picked up some object, pouring liquid from it on to the rising flames and throwing the bedclothes I had seen on to them too. Now I knew what the chemical smell was, it was kerosene from the lamp by the window and the wall of fire was becoming denser. ‘Oh yes,’ he cried, ‘I had to work quickly while you were downstairs.’ I cowered back and saw Cream’s pleasure, he was exultant, almost dancing. ‘A martyr must have a pyre, Doyle. Like a witch.’

I had only a short time before I was consumed. And in that moment I thought of the Doctor. He had attempted to give his life to get Cream out of the world. He had failed. Now was I going to die without even the attempt?

Forced back into the corner of the room where the fire had not yet reached, there was only a chair and the coat I had slung over it when I returned from The Glebe. I seized it, got my arms half in the sleeves but only half so the shoulder and collar covered my head and most of my face. I thanked God in a silent prayer that it was still wet and lunged forward.

The pain was excruciating. My legs felt as if they were being raked by red-hot wires but I knew only speed would save me. And then the pain was less, for I must have been through the worst of it. At once Cream was on me, for I felt a sideways blow from the lamp.

He would have been better to desist. For I took a step back and the coat came off my head so I could see him. Now I had a chance to attempt the second part of my plan, which was inspired only by the thought of Bell’s fate. Cream was holding the kerosene lamp high, preparing to make a lethal blow but I was ahead of him, for I moved aside, grabbing his arm as it came down and pulled him towards the ring of flames.

He was caught off-balance and in any case this was the last thing he expected. I got the other arm round him now and pulled with every once of strength. I hated to feel his body so close to me, I loathed the touch of him. But I had only one wish and that was to fulfil the mission in which the Doctor had failed. Cream was probably stronger than me but he was unprepared and I was driven by pain, hatred and desperation. And so we toppled down together on the edge of the widening flames.

It was agony and I felt the searing pain for my head was no longer protected. But nor was Cream, who cursed. And, even through my own pain, I relished that sound. My arms were still clamped round him, that was the only thought left to me now even as my senses blurred. Then suddenly he gasped and I was unable to hold on any longer, for my hand on his coat was burning and as I withdrew I got my head up and saw what was happening: his coat, unlike mine, was going up in flames. He had spilt kerosene on it in his recklessness while he was spraying and now it was burning faster than anything else.

His head was already further in the blaze than mine and I could see the skin under his nose almost seeming to liquefy, mottling his face, just as he had intended the candles to disfigure me. Meanwhile, my coat was singeing but still offered protection and my face and hair, though agony, were not yet alight.

I felt joy at that moment. I had never succeeded in landing as much as a blow on him previously and here I saw ultimate pain. It was a new sensation to me, he was mortal and his face burnt.

I could not breathe now, so instinct drove me back and I found almost to my surprise I was out of the worst flames. My body was still agony but I was able to breathe and I pushed myself further along.

I could see the door and crawled on through the smoke, remembering my crawling in the cottage, then humiliated, now avenged. Finally I reached the door, aware that though I had burns I was not burning now. And I managed to pull myself up to my feet.

Looking back, I could not see much but I could make out a shape writhing in the smoke and flames. I took the key and pulled the door open, closing it and turning the key in the lock. It was a death sentence, I knew, and I felt a thrill as I did so.

As yet there was no alarm and I knew one would not come soon enough to save him. And then I heard the scream from inside, though not quite from the direction I expected. I relished that scream. I felt it was owed to all the victims, to the Doctor, and particularly to the women he had killed. For other murderers I had often felt different things: contempt, mercy, sadness, even sympathy. But never for him. He was beyond such emotions.

As the sound faded, I moved quickly along the corridor to the staircase. The scream had alerted people on the landing below as had a smell of smoke and I heard the shout of fire.

I came out of the inn without being seen and the rain and the wind were more welcome than any cooling balm. I suppose I must have looked a strange sight. My heavy coat had great burnt patches on it, my hair was singed, my face flushed and in places sore, but at least the coat had survived intact and now it covered the places below the knee where my trouser leg was burnt through. I was very grateful for the coat, it was certainly the only reason my burns were of a lesser kind.

But my moment of exultation passed now as I thought of Bell. Once again I reviewed Cream’s words about the struggle on the cliff, searching for some chink. But I knew there was none. Cream would have had no pleasure in lying to me about such a thing even to achieve a temporary amusement. It was not his way. Bell had given everything and yet saw no satisfaction of victory, only humiliation, and my heart became heavier again as I moved quickly down the street.

The tempest had barely abated, for I heard thunder and the rain sheeted in my face as I walked with occasional lightning to guide the way. Again I turned down the track to the sea and then mounted the coastal path into the trees. I knew the spot where I must look, though it was a dreadful place to visit on such a night.

Finally, I came out into that great space where the noisy surf crashed far below and in front of me lay the broken arch and the graves, tottering at a mad angle. It was a miracle the storm had not dislodged them, though of course it was far from over. And it was a fool who would stand close to the cliff in such conditions, let alone engage in a struggle, but if the Doctor had taken the risk, so must I.

I did not dare to walk to the edge in that wind, so I got down on all fours and crawled through the sodden grass towards it. In a lull I shouted the Doctor’s name aloud and it seemed to echo along the cliff before the wind drowned the call, but of course there was no reply.

Finally, I was at the edge and held tight to a stray lump of masonry beside me, though I knew quite well it would not help me if the ground gave way as I peered over.

At first I could see little, but there was more light here from the sea. I could make out waves, though the tide was not now full, and stones and rocks. But nothing else.

Suddenly there was a great flash of lightning which illuminated all starkly: the sand, the stones, the cliff. And in that moment I saw him. I saw his broken lifeless body stretched out far below me, twisted by the impact, covered in blood. And I wept.